


Fitz's 21st

by memorizingthedigitsofpi



Series: Drunk!Verse [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Gen, Vomiting, fitz is an affectionate drunk, not kidding about the puke btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4037452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/pseuds/memorizingthedigitsofpi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma is on drunksitting duty for Fitz's 21st, and it's certainly an <i>interesting</i> walk home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fitz's 21st

**Author's Note:**

> set three weeks before [Turning 21](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3846196), but can be enjoyed separately

Jemma sighed as she half-carried Fitz along the rainy street. They'd been in a cab, but the driver kicked them out after one-too-many of Fitz's _funny, funny_ jokes about America.

"Hey Simmons," he laughed helplessly, pulling her this way and that along the sidewalk. He had his arm wrapped tight around her shoulders, which was probably for the best considering his current ability to walk.

"Yes, Fitz?" she asked, teeth gritted. She knew where this was going.

"Did you hear Parliament is proposing the 4th of July be a holiday in the UK?"

She looked at him in surprise, although focusing was a bit of a problem as he leaned too close to her. This was one she _hadn't_ heard a thousand times before. "Oh yes?" she asked, despite her best judgment.

"Yeah," Fitz laughed uproariously. "They're going to call it 'Good Riddance Day'!"

She chuckled in spite of herself and regretted it instantly.

"You laughed!" Fitz pointed out. Literally. He pointed his index finger so close to her nose that she almost went cross-eyed. And then he poked it. "Boop," he laughed.

"Guilty," she indulged him. It _was_ his birthday after all.

She was just glad he'd stopped speaking in an American accent. He'd been doing so for half of the evening, and every time he did it jarred against her. It was like watching an actor you knew well whose lines had been dubbed over. It _looked_ like Fitz but sounded like one of the frat boys from Ops. She shuddered slightly.

"Aww," he tutted in sudden concern. "You're cold!"

She really wasn't. Raining or not, it was August and the nights were still rather warm. If anything, the rain just made it muggier.

"I'm fine," she reassured him, but he was already taking off his button down. "Um, Fitz?" she asked, trying to keep her voice level. He had a bit of a history with tequila, and it seemed like tonight wasn't going to be any different. She just had to make sure he kept his pants on and everything would probably be fine. He really didn't need another public indecency incident on his file.

She probably should have rerouted those shots away from him.

Fitz shook out his shirt with clumsy enthusiasm, obviously trying to dry it out and not realizing that it wasn't going to happen in the rain. Finally giving up, he wrapped it around Jemma's shoulders and started to button it up in the front.

"Fitz!" she raised her voice to get his attention.

"Hmm?" he asked, blinking and refocusing on her face.

He tended to be both overly-affectionate and determinedly-chivalrous when he'd been drinking, and arguing against accepting his shirt would probably add another fifteen minutes to what should be a five-minute walk. She decided the path of least resistance was just to put it on.

"Let me get my arms in first, okay?" she asked, wiggling around in the half-buttoned shirt until she could get first one arm and then the other into his sleeves. The job was not made easier by the fact that he hadn't let go of it when she'd made him stop.

Jemma slid her hands along her neck and under her long hair to pull it out of the back of the shirt. Fitz watched her, fascinated by the whole process, and then he leaned down and kissed her.

It was clumsy and reeked of alcohol and only really made contact with half of her mouth, but it wasn't the worst drunken kiss he'd ever laid on her. And it only took him half a second to regroup and get it right.

She counted two Mississippi's in her head and then pushed him back. If he was at the kissing stage then that meant...

She winced as her calves and ankles were suddenly bathed in a warm, chunky mess delivered directly from his stomach. Up side: she was wearing a dress, so he hadn't ruined her clothes. Down side: she was wearing open-toed shoes. She stood completely immobile for a moment, eyes closed and skin crawling.

Fitz, meanwhile, was bent double with his hands on his knees. He continued to spit for another minute or two, trying to get the last of the vomit out of his mouth, and remained bent over as he tried to catch his breath.

"Alright, Fitz," Jemma sighed and patted him on the back. "Up you get."

Fitz straightened up with her help. His face was shockingly pale and totally miserable. "Oh god, Jemma," he moaned.

"Shh," she whispered, stroking his shoulder fondly. "Let's have a seat, shall we?" She pointed at a convenient stoop.

Fitz nodded and slumped his way over to sit on the stairs. "Sorry about the sick," he apologized, holding one of her hands between both of his and rubbing it with his thumbs.

"It's not the first time," Jemma shrugged, recovering her hand and struggling her way out of his shirt. She didn't actually need it to keep warm, so she might as well use it to clean up. "And I doubt it'll be the last," she smiled.

He engulfed her in an enthusiastic hug. "I don't deserve you, Jemma," he moaned into her ear. And then he reached up to try to get her hair out of his mouth.

Jemma quickly hugged him back and then rescued her locks from his pulling fingers. "Of course you do, Fitz," she dismissed his concerns. "We take care of each other," she continued. "Even when we're vomitously drunk."

Fitz nodded solemnly and then slid off the stoop to kneel in front of her.

"What are you...?" she asked, confused.

"Taking care of you," he said as if it were obvious. He grabbed his shirt out of her hands and removed both of her shoes, placing them carefully to the side. Then, he wiped his soaking wet shirt over her puke-covered legs to get the worst of it off.

Jemma had to laugh. Even drunk, he could still read her mind. She leaned back on the stoop and let him take care of her, enjoying the feeling of the summer rain falling on her. It had actually been rather a nice evening, for the most part.

When he'd cleaned her up as best he could, he lurched back to his feet and dumped his now-disgusting shirt in the bin next to the stoop. Reaching down, he pulled her to her feet. "C'mon," he said, and he handed her her shoes.

She made a face and added her shoes to the bin that now housed his shirt. "Alright, let's go," she said.

Fitz frowned at her. "You can't walk home like that," he said.

"Well, I'm certainly not going to walk anywhere in those shoes," she argued.

He thought for a moment, and then crouched slightly in front of her. "Hop on," he said.

"I don't think so, Fitz," she giggled. He could barely keep _himself_ upright at this point. Adding her to his already unstable frame would only spell disaster. "I'd like to get there in one piece."

"Well, what do you suggest then?"

Ten minutes later, a still-protesting Fitz slid off of Jemma's back at the door to his apartment, his sock feet squelching on the linoleum floor. "Ridiculous," he grumbled as Jemma rooted through his pockets to find his keys. "I could have done it!"

She raised an eloquent eyebrow at him as she opened his door. "Fine," she said smugly. "Go ahead and try."

He gave her a smug smile of his own and then crouched down for her to climb on his back. "I think you mean _succeed_."

They made it almost three complete steps into his apartment before he started to fall over and Jemma jumped back down.

"When are you going to learn," she asked, kicking off his too-big shoes, "That I'm always right?"

Fitz let himself fall onto the floor and enjoyed the coolness of the wood under his face. "Maybe tomorrow," he slurred and promptly fell asleep.

Jemma sighed and shook her head at the mess that was her best friend.


End file.
